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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24206482">Illusions</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/WerewolvesAreReal/pseuds/WerewolvesAreReal'>WerewolvesAreReal</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek: The Original Series</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>'Sex' is a bit of a stretch but there are graphic sex-scene-bits, Anonymous Sex, Bars and Pubs, Bottom Spock (Star Trek), M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Shore Leave, Telepathic Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:39:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,937</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24206482</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/WerewolvesAreReal/pseuds/WerewolvesAreReal</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk and McCoy drag Spock down to a bar during shore leave. He gets a bit more from the experience than they realize.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Spock/OMC</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>171</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Illusions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Put down the padd, Spock,” Kirk says. “I know you don't have <em>that </em>much paperwork.”</p><p>Spock sighs, but dutifully stows the Starfleet-issue datapadd in his satchel. On his other side McCoy snorts. “Lucky enough to get first-rotation shore leave, and still trying to work,” he gripes. “Why am I not surprised.”</p><p>“I am not certain if it counts as 'leave' when it is enforced,” Spock points out.</p><p>“You got stabbed <em>three </em>times on our last mission, Spock. You're on leave, and we're taking you to a bar.”</p><p>“I have recovered from that mission. I also fail to see how dubious alcoholic beverages will accomplish anything not already completed in Sickbay.”</p><p>“Doctor's orders, Spock. Don't question it.”</p><p>Spock considers this, then turns to Kirk as the bar enters their vision. “I believe, Sir, that your chief medical officer is abusing his position.”</p><p>“A very serious allegation, Mr. Spock,” says Kirk with due solemnity. “We'll discuss it over drinks.”</p><p>Spock concedes defeat.</p><p>Pivim VII is a planet with a respectable reputation for achievements in the natural sciences – especially botany, geology, and astrophysics. Permitted his own preferences, Spock would spend this leave touring museums and labs.</p><p>He still has some time allotted for such activities. But McCoy and Kirk seem determined to make him 'enjoy' his leave, quite illogically. Spock certainly has no idea how a bar/dance room of dubious legality is meant to accomplish this feat.</p><p>He <em>is </em>somewhat relieved to see a well-kept stage at the front of the room. Pivim VII is renowned for their dancers throughout the Federation – there is a particular style, the <em>sachara</em>, which possesses similarities to old Vulcan courtship dances. Spock doubts he'll witness much professional skill in this venue, but at least the experience could prove intellectually interesting, even if he won't appreciate the experience as Kirk and McCoy might.</p><p>He's not sure why humans always assume he's attracted to women.</p><p>They find a booth where Kirk orders beer. McCoy disappears briefly to harangue the barkeep into making some sort of sweet southern concoction, and Spock politely requests a water from the bemused waitress, who eyes his ears like she expects them to be fake.</p><p>When McCoy returns he loudly praises the location's 'excellent costumer service,' by which Spock assumes that he refers to the bartender's rather ample physical assets; she winks in their direction when he glances over. Then – while Kirk laughs into his drink – someone tugs Spock's ear.</p><p>Spock jolts and whips his head around. But there is no one, and nothing, behind him. Just a little open space and bare brick wall.</p><p>Yet he certainly felt...</p><p>“You alright there?” McCoy drawls. “Not getting too deep in your <em>Altair water, </em>are you?”</p><p>Kirk snorts, but there's a real question in McCoy's eyes. Recomposing himself, Spock replies. “I am quite well. And I would advise you to mind your own drink, Doctor; I have heard that the eateries in this part of the planet often slip mild stimulants into alcoholic beverages to increase tips.”</p><p>“God, if only,” McCoy snorts. He turns away, continuing his conversation with Kirk.</p><p>Distraction achieved. Spock leans back and subtly brushes a strand of hair behind his ear. An unnecessary gesture. It does, at least, confirm that no one is behind him – that the ghostly sense of breath tickling his skin remains in his head.</p><p>Not that he expected otherwise. He represses a twitch as his ear grows warm, then damp – as though someone sucks on it.</p><p>A quick glance around the bar shows no telepathic species nearby. None visible, anyway. He loosens his mental controls, prodding outward with his senses, and immediately hones onto a strong presence somewhere close. Steely, quick, and distinctly masculine. The stranger's mind touches him back with a wavering airiness that implies intoxication. That's irrelevant, though.</p><p>More importantly, the mind is heated. Lustful. The feeling passes between them and hangs. Spock finds himself relaxing his shields even more.</p><p>The alien takes this invitation for what it is, insinuating himself through Spock's half-open defenses. The stranger conveys an almost fierce attempt at seduction:</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>||<em>Greeting-join-together-dominate-take.</em></p>
</blockquote><p>Spock tilts his head. The approach seems bold, but he supposes it would be illogical for the man to seek dalliances who might balk at his somewhat... assertive intentions. Fortunately, Spock has never been put-off by aggressive tactics. He sends back a taunting sense:</p><p>||<em>Try, then.</em></p><p>This time the man replies with an image.</p><p>It flickers in front of Spock's eyes like a mirage, overlapping but not quite hiding the dancers sashaying across the red-lit stage. The stranger is - not subtle.</p><p>The hallucinogenic scene wavers in the air, one impression overlying another: flashes of skin, hands, and bare bodies moving to a rhythmic pulse. It reminds Spock vaguely of a very bad holo-vid he once endured as part of an arts festival. Watching on-screen sex in a crowd of Vulcans is never a particularly tantalizing affair, and he's equally unimpressed today. The man must have poor telepathic control if he can't present a cohesive narrative.</p><p>A stab of</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em> ||Irritation-affront.</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>The image shifts. Stabilizes.</p><p>Now Spock views himself – but a nude version of himself, imagined hopefully with a hairless chest and organ-defying abs. This cartoonishly filtered version of Spock kneels on the ground, head tilted back. Wet lips gape open. Another figure looms overhead – firmly built, also nude. A proud erection juts in front of him. Though the face blurs, this thick, bobbing penis is clearly defined.</p><p>An optimistic depiction, Spock assesses. But the image is not quite life-like, so he reconsiders the ratio between the man's genitals and waists, the space between his shoulders versus the hands tangled in phantom-Spock's hair.</p><p>Amends: <em>Very </em>optimistic.</p><p>A reprimanding pulse of pain skitters across the back of his skull. Oddly, this is not unpleasant. A pause.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em> ||Intrigue-discovery.</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Another pulse of pain, which makes his arms and legs tingle. He watches the blurred figure push a hand against phantom-Spock's head, pressing him forward until -</p><p>Insulting. Spock has perfect muscle control; he does not <em>choke. </em>He sends back his own image, from a different position: an angular view of the stranger from below. Spock imagines what such an event would actually look like. Certainly, he would start slowly.</p><p>Spock both 'sees' and 'feels' the motions of his phantom-self. He starts with broad licks starting from the base of the cock, letting it rub the side of his cheek. Then he suckles gently at the tip, until impatient fingers pull him forward by the neck, pushing past his wet lips. The damp head sinks in further, further, until it nudges the back of his throat.</p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>||<em>Victory-success.</em></p>
</blockquote><p>The alien thinks he's tricked Spock into answering – as though Spock ever does anything he doesn't want.</p><p>But he tolerates the belief, leaning back and letting the next illusions slide in front of his eyes.</p><p>A new image presses between them, almost blotting out their inconsequential surroundings. The stranger forcing down phantom-Spock – he has dark hair now, the alien, though his features remain blurred – and pressing up his knees. Neither of them wear clothes. The man crushes their mouths together (a very humanoid affectation). He enters Spock in a single thrust, which really doesn't seem advisable...</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>||<em>Irritation.</em></p>
</blockquote><p>He enters Spock <em>in a single thrust, </em>smooth and easy. The phantom-Spock tilts back his head, whispering yes, yes, more -</p><p>Spock raises an eyebrow and sips his water. He sends the image back with a firm pressure – not shoving, not necessarily declining the idea, but just dismissing it.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em> ||You flatter yourself,</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>he conveys.</p><p>The stranger is delighted. His aura wraps around Spock, accepting the challenge. The next image he sends is even more wanton – Spock on his stomach, speared open by that generously large cock. Each thrust sends him bouncing on rumpled sheets, mouth open, gasping desperate pleas against the bedspread.</p><p>“You could at least <em>try </em>to look interested,” McCoy complains. “Come on, Spock, it's not like you get to see a scene like this every day.”</p><p>Spock raises his voice a little to reply, “I have seen nothing yet that would engage my attention.”</p><p>Another twisting pulse of pain. The distant amusement rises; a peculiar numbness spreads through his body, tingling along his skin like a wave of ice. An interesting example of autonomic nervous system manipulation, but not really relevant.</p><p>A pause. Then Spock jolts in his chair, stifling a moan.</p><p>Kirk and McCoy do not notice.</p><p>“Do you think that girl looks familiar?” McCoy asks, jabbing a finger toward the stage. The music seems very distant.</p><p>“She does, now that you mention it – you know who she looks like? Esther Selena.”</p><p>“By god, you're right. What was that new play of hers - ?”</p><p>Spock clenches his fists beneath the table. Well. He can now safely say the stranger is a Betazoid. This sort of control, the ability to influence his nervous system from a distance – very few Federation species can penetrate another mind so deeply. Vulcan touch-telepathy doesn't allow him to do the same, or even to find the source of the link – but it feels close.</p><p>If they could join minds properly, Spock senses, these sensations could be even greater.</p><p>He shifts in his seat. He can almost feel ghostly hands stroking over his body, nudging his thighs. This is a public area, of course, but if he were alone -</p><p>No, not alone. Spock has a sudden impression of a large room – with an equally luxurious bed. The same rumpled sheets from the earlier images hang off the side. Splattered semen hints at previous liaisons, but the stranger still rocks inside of him, now more gently. Lying on his back, this latest phantom-Spock has his eyes closed, gasping. The stranger reaches down to cradle his face – then presses a thumb to his lips, sinking inside. Spock sucks immediately. Another finger slips in, and another, until he's choking wetly against the violation.</p><p>Yes. That - that sort of fantasy is a bit more Vulcan, Spock thinks.</p><p>The crowded venue seems excruciatingly warm.</p><p>“Are you sure you're alright?” asks McCoy next to his ear.</p><p>Spock jolts and snaps his head around. This does not seem to alleviate the doctor's concern; he hovers his hand over his bag, where doubtlessly a tricorder has been smuggled into his supplies.</p><p>“We can leave if it's too noisy,” Kirk suggests, glancing at him. “Actually – what time is it, Bones? I was meant to be back at 2200.”</p><p>“2157,” McCoy says. “And I'm meant to be meeting with Lieutenant O'Hara soon – you know she used to take yoga classes?”</p><p>Kirk's lips twitch. “And how's that relevant?”</p><p>“Because god-willing, I'll have sprained half the muscles in my back by this time tomorrow,” says McCoy smugly.</p><p>Kirk laughs and rises. “Don't count your chickens yet, Bones; I always thought Ms. O'Hara had excellent taste... so she might think better of that date.” McCoy mock-scowls. “Coming, Spock?”</p><p>“I will depart shortly.”</p><p>Kirk shrugs. McCoy is already leaving. When they have both gone Spock drains the last of his Altair water. He scans the club slowly, eventually pausing on a quiet man watching from the far end of the room.</p><p>The man's dark eyes proclaim him a Betazoid. His facial features are unremarkable, though contrasted by a broad torso and dense muscles that would be considered pleasantly exotic by Vulcan standards. All of this is irrelevant in comparison to the sticky-sweet lure of his mind. Even now his aura ripples out to Spock. Enfolding – threatening to consume.</p><p>Spock goes to him.</p><p>But first, he pauses by the bar and orders a glass of Vulcan port.</p><p>_____________________________</p>
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